The Queen's steps faltered.
I caught it—that split-second hesitation as her heel dragged across the broken ground. Her lips parted, just barely, and her fingers trembled as she raised her blade once more.
It wasn't like her.
She, who had always been ten steps ahead of every threat. She, who had stood tall through storms, betrayal, and death itself.
Now she stood before me… swaying.
Bleeding.
"Stay back," she said through clenched teeth, her voice steadier than her body. "He's not… someone you can fight."
My instincts screamed to obey. Everything about the shadow-cloaked figure before us radiated finality—like the embodiment of every nightmare I'd ever swallowed.
But it wasn't fear that paralyzed me.
It was rage.
She had carried me when I couldn't walk. Shielded me when I couldn't breathe. Chosen me when I didn't even choose myself.
And now she was standing between me and death again—on legs that could barely hold her.
No.
Not again.
"If you fall," I whispered, stepping up beside her, "I'll never forgive myself."
The sky above us cracked like porcelain, split by the pressure of the entity that stood before us.
His cloak wasn't fabric—it was night given form. It billowed as if it breathed, threads of shadow dripping like oil, whispering forgotten names.
His crown wasn't metal—it was a twisted mess of broken oaths and betrayal, hovering over him like a halo forged in hell.
He raised one hand slowly, and the air bent around it.
Time stuttered.
Reality recoiled.
"Choose, Shadow Queen," he said, voice as calm as it was catastrophic. "Break your bond with the Heir… or watch the realm burn."
The Queen's knees buckled.
Blood streamed from the corners of her mouth as she looked at me—truly looked.
And for the first time…
I saw her afraid.
Not of him.
But of what she might do.
To save me.
To Be Continued…